She lay on the bed. It was well
past midnight and he was nowhere in sight. He hadn't come home last night and
it seemed as if he wouldn't come home today either. She sighed, closing her
eyes and willing herself to sleep.
She had wanted to ask him a million
questions. But that night, when he was wasted beyond all standards and
drunkenly, like a mad man, married her was not the night for questions. So she
had stood quietly as he raged.
She didn't doubt that he would
regret the impromptu byah. She had
expected him to call the whole thing off and walk away, as if nothing happened,
as always. A wedding she came to a
startling realization, meant very less. Gone were those fluttering butterflies
of excitement or in this case even the queasy underlings of fear. A wedding did
not make a marriage. And as far as she was concerned they were already married.
They've been married for as long as she can remember. They had only been
waiting to meet again.
How much she had changed. Her
thoughts. Her actions. They no longer reflected those of a shy girl, too scared
and too lonely. But rather reflected that of a woman who had lost everything
and was now willing to fight for the one thing she believed was still worth
fighting for. To make right her wrong.
But ask her why and she still
wasn't sure. Why him? Why was he worth fighting for? Was it love? Maybe it was.
Maybe it wasn't. All she knew was that she couldn't leave him alone. She wanted
to be his protector too.
She fell into an uneasy slumber
but was woken by the soft, but audible, closing of the bed room door. She was
still and he tip toed, noiseless towards his cupboard. She remained silent as
she heard the shower turn on. Then she heard the shower turn off and her heart
thumped against her chest.
She felt her whole body stiffen
as he waited at the edge of the bed, as if in deep contemplation. Then she felt
the mattress sink on the other side of the bed. He had his back to her,
clinging to the other edge of the bed just as she was plastered to her edge. A
sizable gap existed between them and yet her breathing was shallower and his shoulder
Eventually their breathing eased
and blackness took over.
She was choking. She was certain.
She was burning up. She woke up startled and she wished she hadn't. Because, oh
god, his face close. So close that she felt his even breath on her face and his
limbs were thrown across her in reckless abandon, pining her to the bed and
cutting off her air supply.
She moved trying to get her arms
free and he woke instantly.
"Laila?" He muttered.
Her entire body tensed and she felt
tears prick at her eyes. Of course that's where he was. He went to her. She was
so stupid. She pushed against him with all her might and stood up.
"Laila nahi, Paro"
He looked alarmed and his eyes
showed guilt. She retrieved her clothes, still avoiding looking directly at
him. She wouldn't cry. She wouldn't.
He stood up and cleared his
"Woh.. " He began.
"I'll make breakfast. I've
left my clothes in the bag, so don't worry about the cupboard. I didn't know
where to sleep. But we'll think about that later.. There is a pooja today which we were asked
to go together but I understand. I'll let them know you're tired... What would
you like for breakfast?..."
She babbled on incessantly. How
unlike her. But she didn't want to hear his excuse. She couldn't.
His phone rang and she rushed to
take a bath. He was still taking when she came back. He looked at her side ways
and his voice went up a notch.
"Haan Aman about the thing
we were discussing... while I was at your
house for the last two days... how's going on?..." He waited for her
response. She still wasn't looking at him. But the relief she felt was
instantaneous and he must have felt it too.
" What? I'm not
She was smiling. He had told her,
in his own way, that he was already committed. And that mattered to her, far
more than any wedding.
a/n Another forum another fandom! Hey everyone, new here, but i seem to know many of you guys! Good to see the old gang all here. I'm Shriya for all those who don't know me. I write. Um. Sometimes. Also it's really late so please pardon any butchering of the English language in all of the above. :')
-edited to add-
So i skimmed through the forum and found it raging Somethings never change. Anyway the reason I wrote this OS was to give voice to Paro. Because really she never says anything. In any case I take the show as it comes and try to weave my own story because really... a piece of wood has more imagination than Indian soap writers. So that's how this OS came up. Also does anyone else think this story could totally be Arhi if I just changed the names? Even though I wrote with PaRud in mind. Ahhh the monotone of Hindi serials. But who are we kidding, we love it.
This is the thing about one shots. They leave you with very little space to flesh out the characters, even if you "cheat" and base your story right out of the plot. Its still hardly easy to do that, to take actual events and flesh out the details of what happened after. The show has 20 minutes t give us visuals. You had, what? 2000 words? But still, that the beauty of great writing. In your case, however, you managed, with a minimum of words, to make the maximum impact of the natures. not the situation, not the descriptions. Not even their emotions. Their inherent NATURES.--the nature of these two scarred, helpless people
This is what one feels, Rudra would do. A man so attuned to the concept of adultery, so ripped open by his own mother indulging in this sin--he would not be able to inflict even the thought of such a cruelty onto his own wife. Had he hated Paro, truly, he still would not have made her feel what he felt, and Dilsher felt, for fifteen years. In other ways, I imagine, he'd be breathtakingly cruel. And you've maintained that, in her fear, her uncertainty. But not in this.
And look at what you did. One small line, said loudly, to a surprised man. keeping his own position clear--I dont give a damn--and keeping his heart clear--I am not unfaithful. And her--no KKG style galloping and jelebi hunts for this woman. The silence, the grateful quiet with which she receives this balm in your story--magical. I'm reading your words after a lot time, Firebolt. I hope you'll write many more.